“A short, illustrated story about the author’s fantasy come to life, albeit with a realistic ending.”
their lust was such
Author: wd
i cant guarantee im always around, but when i am, consequences will never be the same.
post malone schemes in zalman king dreams
A poem.
another tale of misery and woe.
walking in a department store and what do i see?
at the end of aisle three,
at eye-level staring back at me, personally?
a giant picture of a hot woman’s ass on the box for an elliptical machine.
the power of publicity.
so i’m standing there, ogling,
trying to figure out what it means:
how did her lower body get to look so lean?
squat-lifting lumber? genes?
maybe she was hiding some cellulite i couldn’t see?
and let me tell you, she was under some pretty heavy scrutiny –
twelve-year-old me would be hiding behind a clothing rack
grinding off on some slacks,
that chick is stacked!
i’m not looking for a four-day weekend
(i’m just looking for a pot to puke in)
A poem.
she doesn’t have any hips
and she doesn’t have an ass –
though she hides what she has under two-size-too-big sweatpants;
her voice is shrill and argumentative
and she doesn’t have any tits,
but she’s only 18,
so she’s just right for me.
she has no experience on matters of life and death,
and when you ask her how she feels,
her expression is bereft –
she only knows enough just to skirt on the fringes
of friendships contingent on how they look:
you know about Thrasher magazine. that’s a bonus.
now maybe you could reward yourself with a donut.
if you’re old enough to show your pussy on-camera
smile at the nice lady
A poem.
when you look at me,
what do you see?
a man aware?
who’s stopped and stares –
whose world is incomplete
without the memory of a face so sweet?
isn’t that the kindest flattery you could receive?
like the loser in the train in that James Blunt song
that everybody danced to at Prom
except me?
that’s what i believed
theory of a daskeman 